Mama Schnee
by RedxMaude
Summary: Here's a small collection of Weiss-centric stories/one shots that explore her family life with a special focus on her mother and her relationship with her parents. Stories span multiple genres. Latest: "Atlas, Rise" is based on a request for Weiss to summon the knight and have it beat up her father. Slight "girl in the tower" AU - I kind of took the idea and ran with it!
1. Psycho

Psycho

* * *

 _ **Summary:** This scene supplants/replaces the interaction between Weiss and Whitley in Volume 4 Chapter 9 to take the story in an entirely different direction._

 _Where is Mama Schnee and why haven't we seen her on screen? Weiss - getting ready to break out of her imprisonment in her room - is determined to find out what's going on with her mother, no matter who stands in her way. Fic is a family-centered drama/suspense story that takes a Hitchcock-inspired turn for the worse._

 _Warning: This particular chapter contains semi-horror fic._

* * *

 _Almost there…_ thought Weiss, eyes closed in concentration.

Unconsciously, her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword as she felt the energy surge. It was like a knot coming undone in her stomach – the energy flowed and something just _clicked_.

In her mind, she could see a sword rising from the ground, pommel first. Inch by inch, the summoning came forth.

"Hello sister."

Weiss growled under her breath as her tether to the glyph snapped and the summoning failed. Shattered blue shards of energy shimmered and disappeared in front of her – erasing the sword.

"Yes, Whitley," she chirped, annoyed.

"What exactly are you trying to accomplish with all this," he said, waving a hand at where the glyph had been only a moment before.

"Do you really care?" asked Weiss.

He smiled.

"No, I guess not," he replied, folding his hands behind his back as he stood in the doorway.

"Then what do you want?"

"Just offering a favor," he said, leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb. "Father's taking me into town, and I was just wondering if you wanted me to pick up anything for you – seeing as how you're… stuck here."

The smile on his face widened, sliding back over his white teeth.

 _You're enjoying this aren't you,_ thought Weiss, glowering.

"Just leave Whitley," said Weiss, turning and raising Myrtenaster – preparing to attempt the summoning again.

"As you wish," said Whitley with a mocking bow.

As he turned on his heel to leave, a thought occurred to Weiss.

Begrudgingly, she said, "Wait."

Whitley stopped, his back to Weiss.

"Yes?" he purred.

For what felt like the hundredth time, Weiss asked, "Where's mother? She hasn't come by since I've been stuck in here." Glaring, she studied her brother's back. "And don't just tell me she's drinking in the garden again."

Whitley turned his chin and stared at her in profile. A grin still pulled up at the corner of his lips.

"Oh, I'm sure she's around here somewhere – I could've sworn I heard the clink of glasses earlier…"

Weiss's cheeks flushed and she frowned, irritated.

"Dammit Shitley that's not an answer!" she shouted, fists clenching.

Immediately, he spun around – anger flashing in his steel blue eyes as the smug smile slipped from his face. He stormed across the room in a few quick strides.

"I told you not to call me that!" he screamed, grabbing the wrist of her sword hand.

 _There you are_ , thought Weiss, studying the change in her brother's features.

His chest heaved heavily as he furiously tugged in deep breaths, and his hand twisted around her wrist – his fingers blanching white.

Weiss met his gaze confidently, enjoying the reaction she'd elicited from her brother. Forcefully, she flicked her wrist and spun the blade of her sword forward – Myrtenaster's sharp edge resting lightly against his leg.

After letting the cold steel rest there for a moment – a silent, simple threat – Weiss yanked her arm out of his grasp with a quick jerk.

Whitley hissed and retracted his hand, cradling it against his chest as if it were wounded. Smug smile returning – although somewhat strained – Whitley walked back towards the door.

"No matter," he said after a moment, his voice even. He turned to look back at Weiss over his shoulder. "Father's waiting."

"Then leave!" snapped Weiss.

Pointing her sword, a glyph appeared on the door and in an instant it slammed shut. The last thing she saw before it closed was the look of surprise on Whitley's face – his eyes wide and his mouth open.

The sound of Whitley's footsteps stomping down the hall disappeared as Weiss started to pace angrily back and forth across her room. Still gripping Myrtenaster tightly in her left hand, Weiss remembered the one and only time she'd even seen her mother since returning to Atlas.

 _It was just after her father had dragged her home from Vale. She was standing in the hall, just after breakfast time._

 _She had seen Whitley there, walking past her._

"… _somebody shouting in Father's office…"_

"… _mother? …"_

"… _no, she's already drinking in the garden…"_

 _Curious, Weiss had snuck away later that morning. Wending her way through the house, she eventually arrived at the wide double doors that led to the large indoor garden. The doors were comprised of latticed glass held in hand-carved white frames._

 _One of the doors stood slightly open. Pushing on the cool wood with her hand, Weiss stepped into the garden._

 _In front of her was a small set of patio furniture, decorated in simple patterns of white, blue, and green. The colors were slightly faded, muted memories of what they once were._

 _She walked past it and turned a corner around a small weeping cherry tree._

 _Ahead, she could see a figure sitting in the garden, facing a small, round pond._

 _Stepping closer, Weiss saw that her mother sat with her back to her in a high, cane back chair – a particular favorite spot of hers. All Weiss could see of her mother was a bit of white hair, one hand draped over an arm of the chair – the other holding aloft a half empty glass, carelessly._

" _Mother?" asked Weiss, hesitantly. She paused, waiting. "Mom?"_

 _Still there was no answer. She took a step forward – one hand reaching towards her mother's back._

" _What are you doing in here?" demanded her father's voice, appearing right behind her._

 _Weiss jumped and spun around to face him._

" _Leave your mother be," he barked. He grabbed Weiss by the shoulder – his long, thin fingers digging into her back – and shoved her back the way she came._

 _They marched out of the garden and her father turned to shut the door tight behind them with a sharp_ click _._

That was the last Weiss had seen of her mother.

Determined, Weiss stopped pacing – the clacking of her heels on the floor came to a sudden halt. Gritting her teeth, she took up her pose – one foot forward, knees bent – and flourished her sword, driving the tip into the tiles beneath her.

She tapped back into the flow of energy, and she felt her semblance unfurling like wings in her stomach. She felt an icy heat flutter over her skin and she peeked up under her bangs, eyes settling on the painting of the armored knight that was hanging on the wall.

A shimmering glyph bloomed on the floor, spinning and growing with each passing second. After a moment, something changed and Weiss felt a sudden release – like a weight dropping from her chest.

A shockwave rippled through the room, a white light shining, and Weiss ducked as the window shattered beside her.

Straightening up, Weiss smiled.

"Miss Schnee!" cried Klein, the door to her room slamming open. "What happened – are you alright? I heard-"

The words died in his mouth when Klein saw the knight kneeling before Weiss – cloaked in swirling blue energy like a wraith. Its massive sword glinted in the light that shone through the broken window.

Triumphant, Weiss beamed at him.

"Klein," she said, "I need a favor."

Snapping his jaw shut, Klein recovered his composure and straightened.

"Of course, Miss Schnee," he said, eyes sparkling with pride.

* * *

 _I'm finally getting out_ , thought Weiss, bustling about her room.

At her request, Klein had secreted some supplies – food, water, etc. – out of the kitchens and the store cupboards for her journey. Packing them neatly, he had left them in her room and watched her getting ready to leave.

As the time drew near, he murmured a soft goodbye, smiling as he left to go stand guard at the end of the hall. If her father or Whitley decided to check on her in her room after they'd returned from town, Klein would try to divert them.

Belting Myrtenaster onto her hip, Weiss smiled – remembering.

 _I'm ready_.

The last piece of the puzzle had fallen into place when she'd finally achieved the summoning. This stage of her training was complete – or as complete as it was going to get for now.

She hadn't mastered it yet, but she could summon – and she could do it well. The summoning had lasted several minutes before the strain on her semblance had grown too great, forcing her to release the knight or let her aura break.

With this new weapon in her arsenal, she was ready to leave and fight her way back to her team, no matter the cost.

But she had something to do first.

 _I just need to make sure she's alright before I go…_ thought Weiss, letting the door to her room swing open.

Patting the satchel on her back, Weiss reassured herself that she had everything she needed. Her mouth settling into a grim line, she marched down the hall in a succession of quick, confident strides.

She passed Klein in the hallway, squeezing his arm as she went. Without a backward glance, she descended down the winding staircase – wincing at the loud, clicking sound of her heels.

Hurrying, she half-walked, half-ran through the house. Several times she caught herself holding her breath as she slipped from room to room – but luckily she saw neither any of the staff nor her family as she picked her way through the Schnee mansion.

Feeling like a prisoner on the run, a thought occurred to Weiss that nearly pulled her up short.

 _There's nothing left for me here. This isn't my home anymore…_

Shaking her head, Weiss pushed on past the large dining room, taking a circuitous route through the house as she avoided her father's study and other rooms that were likely to be occupied at this time of day.

Distantly she heard the shuffling of feet and the murmur of low voices. Panicking, she ducked into a nearby room – an abandoned parlor they only used when entertaining guests. Slipping inside, she closed the door slowly – trying to muffle the sound.

It was dark – the curtains were drawn and Weiss didn't dare turn on the lights, afraid that whoever was passing by would see the light under the door and wonder who was in the usually empty parlor.

Nervously, she looked around her – knowing about where the tables and chairs should be – but unable to see anything in the inky black shadows. Shivering, she pressed her ear to the door, waiting.

Straining to hear, she picked up on what she thought was a conversation about that night's menu by two members of the wait staff. Frowning, she tried to imagine their progress down the hall as they first approached the door behind which she was hiding and then slowly walked away, disappearing in the direction of the kitchens.

Belatedly, Weiss noticed she was biting down on her lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

 _Nervous habit_ , she thought, licking away the hot, red tears that welled up from the cut.

After a minute, she heard their voices grow louder until it sounded like they were just outside the door. For a moment, they seemed to stop, discussing something Weiss couldn't hear through the thick wood of the parlor door.

 _C'mon, keep moving…_

Weiss's nails dug into her palms as she clenched her hands into fists. She counted to ten in her head, once, twice, three times. They were still on the other side of the door talking.

 _Why are they still stopped?!_

Anxiously, Weiss checked to make sure she still had all of her belongings with her, struck by the irrational fear that she'd dropped something in the hall. For a moment her heart pounded against her ribs until she'd reassured herself that she still had everything.

Straightening up, Weiss resisted the urge to start pacing – worried that she'd bump into an end table somewhere in the darkness.

She cast a quick glance around the room, and the hair on the back of her neck pricked up from her skin. Suddenly, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone else was in the room with her, watching.

After what felt like an hour but couldn't have been more than a couple minutes, the muffled voices on the other side of the door started to fade as the two staff members ambled down the hallway.

Weiss held her breath – listening intently for any small sound.

She waited – first one minute, and then another. Still uncertain, Weiss reached a hesitant hand towards the doorknob.

 _They're gone, and if I wait any longer, someone else might come…_

Cautiously, she opened the door inch by inch. When it was just wide enough, Weiss slipped through the opening – eyes scanning the hallway. After she was sure there was nobody nearby, she turned to close the parlor door.

The cold tingling sensation on the back of her neck started to prick at her again, and she peered into the room – eyes searching the places where the sliver of light from the hallway landed.

All she saw were tables and chairs laid out neatly on an ornate rug. No one was there.

Berating herself, she closed the door and hurried off down the hallway.

After another few minutes of ducking through unoccupied rooms, Weiss managed to arrive back at the double glass doors that led to the garden.

Reaching for the gold handle, her hand was steady but she felt like her skin was humming. A nervous energy thrummed in her chest and she focused on her breathing. Casting one last quick glance over her shoulder, Weiss cracked open the door and hastily stepped inside.

She closed the door as gently as she could before tiptoeing around the patio set near the entrance to the garden. She turned down the path just as she had last time, instinct guiding her to her mother's preferred seat by the reflection pond.

Peeking around the long, slumped branches of the weeping cherry tree, Weiss caught a glimpse of the pond.

"Mother?" she said, her voice small and childlike.

As before, her mother was seated in her high, cane backed chair with her back to Weiss. Weiss noticed the drink her mother's hand, the light cherry-brown liquid sloped in the lazily tipped glass. She could smell notes of honey and something else in the air, emanating from the glass.

Weiss took another step towards the reflection pond.

"Mother?"

Still, no response. Her mother sat silently, facing away from Weiss.

Weiss's eyes narrowed. Something about the glass bothered her.

Weiss froze, trying to puzzle it out. Silence reined in the garden – not even a gentle cross breeze to rustle the leaves on their vines.

 _What…_

Slowly, a vein of ice blossomed in Weiss's heart.

 _The glass… it's half-empty like before._

The glass – held in her mother's right hand – was exactly as full as it had been the last time Weiss had wandered into the garden. The longer Weiss stared at it, unmoving in her mother's upheld hand, the deeper the seed of dread sank into her gut.

"Mom…"

Forcing herself to move, Weiss closed the gap between them with a few stiff strides.

Steeling herself, Weiss sucked in a breath and held it in her lungs – ribs groaning as she reached out with one hand.

 _Mom?_

Exhaling heavily she tugged on the chair and spun it around.

"Mom!"

Disturbed by the sudden motion, the glass tumbled to the ground – the warm brown liquid spilling in the grass. It landed with a muffled _thump_ , rolling on its side.

Weiss gasped and swallowed a small shriek, her hand recoiling from the chair as she jumped back.

"No…" she whispered. "No, no, no, no, no…"

Dumbly, she repeated the word under her breath – voice fading until her lips moved soundlessly.

Sitting slumped in the chair, her mother's head lolled to one side, and her right hand stayed stiffly in place – holding a glass that was no longer there.

Staring back at Weiss were two desiccated sockets where there should have been eyes. They gaped open like black holes in her mother's face. The skin around them was dry and wrinkled, and her mouth hung open, not quite closed.

Bile rose in Weiss's throat, burning, but her eyes stayed glued to the taxidermied corpse of her mother.

Weiss jumped – muscles clenching – as a scream ripped through the air in the garden, and still her eyes never left her mother's face.

"Weiss no!" shrieked Whitley, appearing on the other side of the small pond. His voice ripped through several octaves as he stomped closer.

Almost unfeeling, Weiss half-listened. Her mind was blank – devoid of thought – and still she mouthed the silent words, "No, no, no…"

"Weiss! Get away from there!" yelled her brother, practically pouting. His cheeks flushed red with anger.

"Mother is resting! How dare you disturb her!" He circled around the pond, getting in Weiss's face. "Leave her alone!"

His hot breath rolled over her face in waves. Some small part of her snapped back to attention, and her eyes gradually drifted from the body in the chair to Whitley's sharp blue eyes.

For a moment, brother and sister simply stared at one another – Weiss unmoving as Whitley practically shook from head to toe, outraged.

 _Whitley…_ she thought, her mind moving sluggishly.

After another moment of silence, she spoke – her voice a broken whisper.

"What have you done?"

* * *

Author's note: So! Strange semi-head canon about how Weiss's never-on-screen mother has actually been Norman-Bates'ed and is permanently "drinking in the garden." Idea for the fic came from a joke I've made with some of my friends about the often mentioned but never seen Mama Schnee.

Not my best writing, but I figured I'd share in case anyone else might get a kick out of a _Psycho_ -esc plot twist for everybody's favorite Ice Queen (and also because I've never posted anything Weiss-centric before so, you know, might as well)! Feel free to lemme know what you think in the reviews/send me a PM!


	2. Goodnight, Weiss

Goodnight, Weiss

* * *

* _Content is not sequential - this chapter is independent/separate from the previous. Rated T for language, Family/Drama centered._

 _ **Summary:**_ _A six year old Weiss wakes up in the middle of the night, drawn to the sound of raised voices. Here's a little peek into what it might have been like to grow up in the broken home of the Schnee family._

* * *

Weiss lay awake under the blankets, sheets pulled up to her chin. The dim glow of her nightlight let her see the fuzzy shapes in her room: the curtains of her canopy bed tied back, unlit candles on the wall, a shelf stuffed full of her favorite picture books.

But it wasn't what she saw there in the semi-darkness that frightened her. Holding her breath, Weiss listened.

Muffled sounds snaked up through the crack under her door, the strangled murmur of angry voices. Steeling herself, Weiss slowly picked her way out from under the covers – trying to make each and every movement silent. Wincing, she listened to the whispered rustle of her sheets.

Her bare feet hit the cold floor – tiles like ice under her toes. Try as she might, she couldn't entirely erase the little _pitter patter_ of her feet against the floor as she stole over to the door. Biting her lip, she slid it open first one inch and then another and another – pausing at each step to listen.

When the crack was wide enough, Weiss slipped out into the hallway, leaving the door open behind her. Tiptoeing, she made her way down the hall and to the top of the grand staircase that led down into the foyer.

Crouching down, she pressed her face to the cold, wooden bars of the railing – trying to see into the parlor downstairs. But all she could see was the doorway that led off of the foyer, her eyes grabbing on to the one small corner of the room closest to the staircase.

No one was there, but she could hear them – deeper inside the parlor, just outside of her line of sight. Her little white fingers wrapped possessively around the bars of railing. Glued to the bannister, Weiss listened to the sounds that had yanked her from her sleep.

Her grip tightened and she jumped, barely suppressing a yelp as the sound of glass shattering broke over her with a giant _crash_. The broken fragments slithered to the ground like a tinkling rain.

"Oh brilliant are you happy now?" her father's voice thundered.

Another glass shattered – screaming in the night as it collided with the wall.

"Yes, Jacques, I'm _so_ happy, can't you tell?" spat her mother.

"Why don't you calm down and have another drink, dear," he sneered. "That'll make it all better."

"Don't tell me to have another drink!" her mother shrieked, voice ripping out of her throat and up the through the floorboards. The sour notes echoed in Weiss's chest, burning.

"Keep your voice down, it isn't good form."

"We wouldn't want that now would we," she hissed.

For a moment they were silent. Even as she stared at that empty little corner of the room, Weiss imagined what the scene in the parlor looked like below.

She could see her mother's eyes – defiant – glaring at her father. He was probably seated in his armchair by the fireplace, a fat cigar tipped lazily between his fingers. He'd have a speck of soot in his otherwise perfectly groomed mustache.

Her mother's heels clacked against the tiled floor – occasionally punctuated by muffled _thumps_ as her pacing carried her over the grand Mistrali rug that spread out across the center of the room.

Weiss shivered in the cold, trying to stretch her cotton nightgown down over her bare feet.

"Winter's getting to that age – it's time she trained to take over her birthright," said her mother.

"She's a bit young to start learning about the company," her father's voice bubbled up the stairs, laughing.

"I didn't mean the company, Jacques."

"Oh, _that_ ," he said. "What is your insistence on Winter unlocking her _aura_? Aura – semblances – it's all a little barbaric when you think about what we can do now with the technology our military has built – that _I've_ helped them to create."

"You just don't get it, do you? It's her _heritage_ – it's what made my father strong enough to go all over Remnant and build this company in the first place."

"It's an irrelevant way of life – or it will be one day soon. She doesn't need to learn any of those silly _spells_ ," he spat.

"They're not _spells_ ," he mother yelled. "And don't pretend to be ignorant. You can spit on it all you want – but just because it isn't something you'll never be able to do-"

Her father laughed darkly and Weiss winced. She hated that sound. She didn't have the words to describe it – not yet any ways – there was just something about it that made her skin crawl, something that made her uncomfortable.

One day when she was older, she'd learn the word she needed: _condescending_.

"Don't imagine that my _pride_ is wounded because I don't know how to wave my hand and make monsters appear. I've got all the power I need – and it doesn't involve throwing myself at the mercy of the Grimm."

Weiss could practically see the smug, derisive look on her father's face: his lips pulled down in an openmouthed sneer, eyes squinting into little slits – the hint of early crow's feet crinkling his skin.

"Besides," he said, "Just look at where your father's _strength_ has landed him. He's a doddering old fool with dust from the mines in his lungs, slowly choking him to death. And all the while, that insufferable old man still insists that _he_ was right and _I_ am wrong. Ha!"

"Of course you wouldn't understand," her mother said, her voice low and growling. "You're not a Schn-"

Her mother's words cut off and Weiss heard her suck in a sharp breath. A sharp _smack_ echoed through the house and for a moment everything was silent.

Weiss squeezed her eyes shut and buried her head against the bars of the bannister. She'd heard her father hit her mother before, even seen it once. She knew what the red imprint of her father's hand would look like on her mother's cheek, and how her mother's own hand would rise up to cover the mark, gingerly prodding at her skin.

Weiss heard somebody spit, and then her mother said something – her voice was low and angry.

" _You_ will never be the true leader of this family, _Gel_ _é_. You married into this dynasty – like a snake in the grass you wormed your way into my father's company, and you've poisoned it from the inside out. If it's the last thing I do, I won't let you ruin what's left of this family."

"You _bitch_ ," her father roared. She heard a clattering _crash_ and the sound of wood scraping against tiles as her father's chair went flying across the floor.

Her mother let loose a small scream before her voice cut off, trapped in her throat. Weiss heard a heavy _thud_ as a small tremor shook the house – sounding like something solid had slammed into the wall.

Her father's next words were too low for her to understand. Weiss thought she could hear her mother crying – struggling, and still her father growled.

Hands shaking, little Weiss pried her fingers off of the railing and took two unsteady steps towards the top of the stairs, still half-crouched to the floor. She heard another yelp and she froze – now she could see another couple feet into the parlor.

She could just spy the edge of her father's pant leg – a sharp white crease still pressed into the fabric despite the late hour. The edge of his sport coat flared around his hip. She could see that his shoulders were tensed, strained.

He had her mother pinned against the wall – one hand on her throat.

She saw her mother swallow, forcing her breath down past the fingers that squeezed her windpipe.

"The girls will learn, Jacques. It was and is my father's will – they will carry on the Schnee legacy in ways that you can _never_ dream of. There's nothing you can do to stop them. They are what they are, _in spite of you_."

Her mother's voice was choked, and she struggled for breath as she spoke. Weiss couldn't see her face, but something in her mother's tone made her think she wasn't frightened. Still, Weiss took another hesitant step towards the top stair – inching closer as silently as she could.

To steady herself, Weiss reached out and gripped the bannister. She froze – heart pounding in her chest when the wood groaned under her touch. She sucked in sharp shallow breaths – too terrified to move a muscle.

But of course her parents didn't hear the small, little noise.

"I don't give a damn about your father's _wishes_ ," her father hissed, spittle flying from his lips and landing on his wife's face. She flinched but never once did she look away.

"They're _my_ daughters and like hell am I not going to have a say in their upbringing! This is MY HOUSE DAMMIT!" he roared, his voice climbing all the while. "I DON'T GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT WHAT YOU OR YOUR FATHER WANTS."

Weiss pressed her hands over her ears and still she could hear her father's words bellowing through the house, bouncing off the walls and crashing into her ears – heedless of her reddened, little hands.

Distantly, Weiss thought she could hear a high-pitched wailing – Whitley had woken up in the nursery.

And still her father yelled.

"HUH? DO YOU SEE WHAT'VE DONE NOW, YOU CARELESS BITCH?"

Weiss heard another sharp _thwack_ , the shrieking snap of skin striking skin.

" _THIS. IS. MY. HOUSE!"_ he said, his voice snarling.

Tighter and tighter Weiss tried to clamp her hands down over her ears. Her face flushed and her eyes watered, tears bubbling over onto her cheeks.

"Weiss," said a voice, calm and soft by her ear. A hand fell on her shoulder.

Surprised, she jerked away and nearly went tumbling down the stairs. Arms flailing, she felt that same hand reach out and grab her – pulling her back up onto the landing.

Weiss's ribs heaved heavily as she tried to catch her breath. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, clearing away the tears.

"Winter?" she asked, the word a tentative squeak.

"Shh," said her sister, holding up a finger to her lips.

Without another word, Winter tugged on Weiss's arm and pulled her along, heading back down the hallway. Weiss stumbled but followed, sniffling.

Downstairs, her father was still yelling – his words becoming lost in a thundering jumble of sounds.

With quick, quiet feet, Winter led them back to Weiss's room. They pushed through the open door, Winter steadying it with her hand in case it squealed on its hinges.

"Winter-" Weiss whispered, but her sister merely shook her head, still tugging her by her arm.

Gently, Winter guided Weiss back over to her bed and helped her settle back under the sheets. Disappearing from sight for a moment, Winter darted around the bed and untied the curtains of the grand canopy bed – letting them slip soundlessly from their restraints.

Weiss blinked as her eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness – the curtains closing out the glow of her nightlight. As they slid shut, they shut out what little bit of sound still managed to snake up the stairs and through her door.

For a moment, nothing moved.

"Winter?" she whispered again, struggling not to let her voice rise.

After a few seconds something rustled and the covers shifted.

"Right here," said Winter, sliding into the bed beside Weiss. "Lay down."

Warm hands pressed down on Weiss's shoulders, encouraging her to lie back on the bed. Wordlessly, she complied. Weiss felt her big sister pull the quilt up to her chin. After another moment of shuffling, Winter laid down beside her. Her hand reached out under the covers, taking a hold of Weiss's, squeezing gently.

"Go back to sleep Weiss," she said, her voice whispering in Weiss's ear.

"I don't want to," she pouted. A few tears still dribbled down across her cheeks and she sniffled – wiping her nose with her free hand.

"It's okay," said Winter, her thumb smoothing over the back of Weiss's hand. "I'll stay until you fall asleep, Weiss. You'll be safe, I promise."

Winter started to hum a song, her voice soft in the darkness. Sweet, high notes buzzed between her lips.

"Winter…" Weiss mumbled, still protesting weakly.

Winter ignored her and kept humming. The simple melody of the lullaby rose and fell like gentle waves.

 _Winter_ …

This time the word didn't make it past Weiss's lips. She simply thought her sister's name, her eyes closing. The name echoed and faded, slowly replaced by the sound of Winter's song.

Slowly, Weiss lost her fight to stay awake – a calm, quiet darkness settling over her. At some point she fell asleep, losing track of the notes that Winter hummed by her ear.

She drifted – she was warm and tired and safe, and so eventually she floated into a dreamless place, where there was no more yelling or slamming or screaming or crying.

Sometime later she woke briefly, just long enough to notice that Winter was gone. Where she'd been in the bed, the sheets were tossed back in a crumpled heap. Weiss's hand scrabbled through the blankets – searching for her sister.

Something shifted in the darkness above her and Weiss turned her head. She felt a feather-light touch as a kiss was pressed to her forehead. Feverishly warm skin brushed her cheek, and a tear dripped onto Weiss's face, salty against her lips.

Weiss squinted.

"Mom?"

"Shh, it's okay. Go back to sleep," said her mother, her fingers gently stroking through Weiss's hair.

"Mmmm…" she mumbled, not quite awake.

"Shh, it's okay," her mother repeated, whispering. After all the screaming from earlier, her voice was surprisingly soft and light.

Weiss's eyes closed again, lulled by the gentle tugging sensation of her mother's fingers combing through her hair. Her skin buzzed where her mother's lips had touched her forehead.

Fighting to wake up, Weiss forced her eyes to open.

"Mama," she whined, looking up at her mother's face, hovering over her in the darkness. Weiss could just make out the reddened, angry curve of a swollen welt under her mother's left eye.

"Shh, shh, Weiss – go back to sleep," she cooed, her voice rasping as it rose. She tried to say something else, but she coughed, one hand flying up to her throat.

"Mama no-ooo-o-ooooo," Weiss pouted. Hiccupping tears strangled her voice as she spoke.

Her mother simply shook her head, still coughing. Absently, her fingers still trailed through Weiss's hair. For a moment her breathing evened out, and she leaned back down towards Weiss, placing another gentle kiss on her forehead.

Rising from her seat on the edge of the bed, Weiss's mother let the canopy curtains slide shut behind her. Her footsteps pattered against the floor, coupled with the sound of more choked coughing.

Weiss sat alone in the darkness, sitting up in her bed. Staring uselessly at the curtains with dry, red-rimmed eyes, she twisted the edge of a blanket between her fingers.

She heard the subtle click of her bedroom door opening and then a pause, without a sound.

Weiss didn't have to see her mother to know that there were tears in her eyes, dimmed by the low light of evening.

Another moment of silence sank into the room. There was static in the air – pressing on Weiss and wrapping around her chest. Then, distantly, her mother's voice murmured across the empty space between them.

"Goodnight, Weiss… goodnight, my little one…"

And then she was gone, disappearing on the other side of a shut bedroom door into the night outside.

* * *

Author's note: So my plans for this particular chapter as of now is just to leave it as a one shot. But if you have any comments/suggestions please let me know! I'd love to know what you guys think of the story.

For this fic it looks like I'll be adding Weiss-centric family stories that in some way, shape, or form involve Mama Schnee – so if you have any ideas/requests for stories please let me know! You may just end up inspiring a new chapter.


	3. Atlas, Rise Part One

Atlas, Rise

Part One

* * *

* _Content is not sequential with previous chapters - this story is independent/separate from the previous. Rated T for language and violence, Family/Drama centered. Slight "girl in the tower" AU._

* * *

 _Once upon a time, in a kingdom of ice, there lived a girl in a tower with hair as white as snow. She was fair of skin, and pale of eye, and a beauty if ever there was._

 _She was called Weiss Schnee, for the color of her hair and the land from which she was born._

 _But her beauty alone was not her only gift – there was a power bubbling up inside of her, one that she didn't understand and had no one who could explain to her what it was or from whence it came._

 _Alone she lavished in her tower, and from the time she was ten, she was a prisoner in her own home._

 _Locked away by her tyrant father, she had not left that solitary tower for six long years, not since the time she was a child. But the day was fast approaching when she could stand it no longer…_

Weiss paced across the cold, tiled floor. The soles of her shoes _clicked_ and _clacked_ , echoing throughout her room. Outside, the sun was slowly setting, its last rays just peeking up over the edges of distant mountains.

The girl stopped her pacing. She stood by the window and watched the fading light. Already, the heat from the day was fading, and cold air rolled in waves off of the glass. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

Beside her was an end table, and on it was a tray of food. A small loaf of bread, some soup – now cold – and a few slices of ham all sat there, untouched.

Weiss watched the sun sink inch by inch, fading away from sight. Soon, she would be wholly alone – and in the dark.

Earlier, her father had made his daily appearance. A servant had come with him, leaving the tray of food behind. Glaring at the window panes, ice crawling up over the glass, Weiss remembered…

* * *

The servant – a woman whom she'd never heard speak – had deposited the tray and left, not staying for more than a moment.

Her father had stood in the doorway, taking his customary place on the threshold of her prison. Hands in his pockets and his chin tilted up, he glared down at her over the bridge of his nose.

"I heard that you had another… _incident_ ," he said, the movement of his lips ruffling his neatly groomed mustache.

Weiss sat on the edge of her bed, peeking up at her father from under her bangs. The disdain was clear on his face, his upper lip pulled up in a sneer.

"No, father," she said, her voice small.

"Don't lie to me!" he roared – hands balled up into fists as they ripped out of his pockets. Anger flushed red across his cheeks for a moment before he could regain control.

Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, he twisted his neck to the side until it made a satisfying _crack_. He patted his hair and smoothed down the front of his jacket.

"The servants," he said, his tone even, "told me that they had to clean up broken glass on your floor, and that they heard something crashing around your room like a thundering beast."

His eyes snapped open.

"Do you have anything to say about that?" he hissed.

"Father, I-"

"Stand up when you're speaking to me!" he yelled, a red light from a candle glinting in his eye.

Weiss jumped, startled, and abandoned her seat on the edge of her bed. Nervously, she stood there, her hands fumbling with the fabric of her dress. Her eyes were trained on the floor.

"Weiss," her father said, impatience growing. "Look at me. Weiss!"

 _I can't stand this_ , she thought. Angry tears burned in her eyes.

Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet her father's. In his frustration, he had taken a step further into the room, towards where she stood.

For a moment, Weiss saw a flicker of motion just behind her father in the hallway. A small white head of hair bobbed by his elbow.

 _Whitley_ …

Her father seemed to take no notice of the boy. Whitley was several years younger than Weiss and in truth, she knew little about him. She'd only caught glimpses of him here and there since the time she'd been sent away, and locked in this room.

Her only real memories of him were the fuzzy and indistinct memories of childhood, largely replayed and replaced over the years – like memories of memories, stories she told herself over and over again.

What she remembered was a warm hand, and a babyish cry. She remembered him smiling up at her from his crib, and watching him crawl from one toy to the next across the woven rug of the nursery.

Her father shifted his stance, and in an instance that one little glimpse of her brother was gone.

"Dammit girl! Stop staring around and answer me," he hollered, a bit of the red returning to his cheeks.

Weiss glared at him, something burning in her heart.

"I can't control it. I've _never_ been able to control it! No one's ever explained to me-"

"And nobody ever will!" he said, cutting her off. "You don't need to know _what_ or _why_ or _how_ it is – you only need to know that it shouldn't be done! It's an aberration – a blight on the family name."

The louder her father's voice grew, the angrier Weiss became. The scared little girl quivering in front of her jailer disappeared, beaten back to the darkest corners of her mind.

"And what would you know about the family name, _father_?" she spat, her heart hammering in her chest. Her father had married into the Schnee name, a secret that she had learned from her mother a long, long time ago.

In three quick strides he crossed the room to the side of her bed and like lightening his hand lashed out, striking her across the face. His palm connected with her skin with a sharp _smack_.

Stunned, she reached up to touch her cheek. Her father had been angry in the past, he had locked her in this room away from the rest of the world – but he had never _hit_ her before.

Before she could fully recover, his fingers wrapped around the wrist of her upheld hand – wrenching it away from her face. He grabbed her chin with his other hand and shoved his face down into hers.

"Never. Say that. Again," he said, his voice dangerously low.

Still defiant, Weiss tried to hide her fear and glare back at him, even with the sting of his slap still burning on her skin.

But the longer she stared, the more infuriated her father became. His teeth ground together and the muscles in his jaw rolled. A vein stood out on his temple.

"AHHHHHHHHHH!" he yelled, and he shook her hard. Weiss's head snapped back and forth and the bones in her wrist groaned form the pressure of his grip. His other hand closed around her shoulder and heaving, he threw her to the floor.

Weiss's head cracked against the tiles and her ears rang. All she could see were her father's shoes – dark brown leather with gold stitching. He turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

"Whitley!" he barked. Somewhere in the hall, a pair of small feet shuffled. "Go find your mother!"

 _Yes, go…_ urged Weiss with her thoughts, willing her brother to leave. _Get away… from him._

 _Mother. Mother will keep you safe._

For a whole year now, her father had kept her mother away. Ever since the "incidents," as he called them, had started to happen more and more frequently, her father had prevented her from visiting Weiss.

Sometimes, Weiss wrestled with a secret fear: that she would eventually forget her mother's face. She was afraid it would become a memory of a memory of a dream she once had, much like the images she had of Whitley.

Once in a while, she'd have a nightmare: her mother was standing in her room in the tower, her back turned. And when Weiss called out to her, and she turned around – her face was gone, blank and pale as the moon.

 _Mother…_ thought Weiss, the muscles in her face straining as she fought with everything she had not to cry.

 _If only you could see me now…_

And slowly Weiss's anger and sadness turned into something else.

 _If father could hit me and not give it a second thought then… how safe is the rest of my family?_

Blood roared in her ears as she picked herself up off the floor. By the time she had managed to pull herself up onto her knees, her father was standing in the door.

Wordlessly, he sneered down at her – his lips pulled into thin white lines against the red flush of his skin.

Practically shaking with rage, Weiss glared up at him.

Jacques' sneer turned into a grim imitation of a smile and he made a scoffing sound deep in his throat. Turning, he slammed the door and marched away, his footsteps disappearing down the hall.

When he was gone, Weiss sagged – her shoulders stooping and her hands dropping into her lap. Her anger slowly dissipated, and all she felt was drained.

She stayed there on the floor for what must have been an hour – thinking about what would come next…

* * *

Back in the present, Weiss stared past her reflection in the rapidly darkening window.

 _I have to get out of here… but how?_

So far all she'd managed to do was pace around her room and stare out the window. Occasionally, she'd slam her fist against the wall, knocking aside picture frames with the force of each blow.

Frustrated, she had to resist the urge to flip over the table by her bedside – untouched tray of food and all.

Her hands shaking, clenched up into tight fists, she saw a flash of light out of the corner of her eye. Turning, she tried to catch another glimpse of it but it was gone.

"Dammit," she cursed under breath.

Weiss glared at the wall. Agitated, the crooked picture frames started to bother her, crawling under her skin like ants. Grinding her teeth, she set them straight. The last one she fixed – the largest in her room – was a painting of a set of armor in the grand hallway of the house below.

For hours she had stared at this particular picture. Locked in a room by herself for years, Weiss had had little in the way of entertainment – and so she'd make up stories. Stories of knights and princesses, wizards and dragons. She'd stare at the painting, and lose herself in a place far, far away from her tower…

But tonight she couldn't sink into that peaceful stupor of waking dreams. She eyed the knight, briefly imagining it walking off the canvas, marching across the room and busting down the door to her lofty cage.

She shook her head.

"Focus," she scolded herself, closing her eyes and turning away from the painting.

Weiss went back to pacing, lighting a few candles as she went. The full darkness of evening high up in the tundra had settled in, cloaking the room in fuzzy shadows.

An anxious energy fluttered about her chest – she was angry and tired and frustrated and she had no idea what to do about it.

 _I just need to DO something._

 _But what? What the hell can I do?_

 _I can't even get myself out of this room._

In her mind, Weiss saw herself opening the door, walking down the hallway, descending the stairs and running through the house – it had been so long she wasn't even sure if she'd remember how to find the exit.

So consumed by the thought, Weiss wandered over to the door and wiggled the handle.

For whatever reason, she'd almost expected it to be unlocked.

Growing angrier, she kept shaking the handle, pulling on it and rocking the door on its hinges.

"AH!" she shouted, breathing heavily. Giving up, she was about to let go of the handle when another flash of blueish light flickered in the corner of her eye.

"Hey!" she yelled, and spun – trying to see more of the light.

But it was gone.

"ARRrrrrrrrraaaAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

Frustrated she screamed uselessly. She'd seen the blue lights before. Sometimes, they'd last for several minutes and she could see them – spinning faster and faster, and flashing white.

They were always a sign – a precursor – of the "incidents."

At first, it was just the spinning lights, dancing around the edges of her vision. Then, they'd started to last longer and burn brighter – in a variety of shapes, like glyphs she'd once seen in a book a long, long time ago.

Every time she saw them her heart jumped in her chest and her skin buzzed like a swarm of hornets all coming to life at once. And the more the she gave herself over to the sensation, the bigger the lights would grow until –

 _Until…_

Weiss struggled to find the words to describe just what it felt like, when the glyphs exploded and then the creatures appeared, bursting into life with a flash of bright white light that burned so hot it was cold.

The first time it had happened was on her sixteenth birthday – just a few short months ago. Miserable and alone and fuming with her father, Weiss had screamed and cried and thrown things around her room – demanding to see her mother on this, the most special of occasions.

But her father had denied her, locking her back inside as he disappeared back into the house, leaving her alone in the tower.

When her anger had peaked and the lights were all she could see, filling her eyes and taking over her mind, _it_ had appeared in a brilliant flash.

It had shaggy, spiky fur that poked up out of its hide in tufts. Two massively curling tusks spouted out of its mouth, sharpening into two fine points. It had a heavy snout and beady eyes, and four shiny hooves.

Weiss had seen pictures of animals like this in books before – although not quite the same. This creature had strange, looping marks like tattoos over its tusks that glinted in the light, and there was something intelligent about its gaze.

Standing in her room, not moving – as if waiting for _something_ – was a boar.

Stunned, Weiss stood there staring at it for a moment – one hand hovering in the air between them, as if reaching for it. Nervously, she took a step towards it.

But her foot caught on the rug in front of the unlit hearth. Stumbling, Weiss felt something _snap_ inside of her, like a thin piece of glass cracking and breaking in half.

The boar squealed and roared. It charged at her, and she threw up her hands – bracing for the impact.

But through half-closed eyes, she watched as it dissipated into a cloud of curling smoke just inches from where she stood. The ghostly white mass passed over her harmlessly, and disappeared.

That had been the first "incident." Then, there had been others.

It didn't happen often – and Weiss was terrified every time it did. Terrified, and also so horribly curious.

What was it, this thing that she could do?

The last time it had happened, the apparition lasted for several minutes. But, as she had the other times, Weiss lost control – her grip on the flow of energy that produced the lights and the beasts slipped – and the boar went crashing through her room, breaking a vase and cracking the antique wood of her footboard.

 _If only it had rammed itself into the door rather than my bed…_

Weiss's stomach flipped.

 _No, I couldn't…_

Her heartbeat thrummed so fast that one beat bled into the next, a continuous buzz of motion.

 _Could I even try it? I've never done anything like it before…_

Weiss's hand drifted up to her face, cupping the cheek her father had struck earlier. Her mouth settled into a tight line, determined.

 _I have to._

Decided, Weiss pushed as much furniture as she could out of the center of the room. A small table, a wooden rocking chair, a low bench. Frowning, she looked at her bed.

 _There's nothing I can do about that_.

Belatedly, Weiss realized that she was practically panting, sweat beading along her forehead. Taking a deep breath, she tried to steady herself.

She had made up her mind. She was going to summon the lights, _on purpose_. She'd never attempted anything like it ever before, but if she could do it – then maybe, just _maybe_ , she could break out of her prison.

All Weiss knew was that each of the incidents had one thing in common: Her emotions.

Each and every time the lights or the creatures had appeared, she'd been pushed into summoning them by anger, sadness, pain, fear – some strong emotion that took over her, body and soul.

And so now, standing in the middle of her room – Weiss had to get _angry_.

Closing her eyes, she focused on everything she hated about her life – her imprisonment in the tower, her fading memories of her brother, how much she missed her mother.

And most of all, she held a picture of her father's sneering face in the center of her mind.

She dredged up all the shame he had ever made her feel for who she was and what she could do. She let her rage over her captivity flare – all the things she'd never been able to do, all the places she'd never seen, all the people she'd never met.

Her regret over watching her life fly past her – moving on without her. Every year a little older, growing into a young woman, who'd seen nothing, done nothing, loved no one…

The dark part of her heart that _hated_ the man who had given her life flared into existence like a bright flame. Every fantasy she'd ever had about him leaving and never coming back blossomed in her mind. She saw him cast out of the mansion, cold and alone.

She saw herself taking her rightful place as the older of the two Schnee children – becoming the heir, and stepping up to lead her family into a more peaceful era.

Weiss let her skin burn, remembering the feeling of his skin on hers as his hand slapped across her face. She ground her teeth, remembering just how much she'd secretly wanted to hit him back – _harder_.

Opening her eyes, Weiss saw a massive glyph shimmering just a few feet in front of her. Streaks of black snaked through the design, and the blueish-white light spun. Faster and faster, it turned and twisted and pulsed until it was a blur.

Weiss's lungs strained under an invisible pressure and her heart felt like it had beat its way out of her chest.

She forced a few shallow breaths in and out of her lungs, mouth open wide in a silent roar.

 _Almost… there…_

She felt like she was on the very edge of something, like she was standing on the threshold of a massive door – and she tugged and tugged on the handle, _almost_ strong enough to throw the doors open and step inside the room beyond.

 _The anger isn't enough this time, I need something more…_

And then it _clicked_ – a new fire burned in her gut, and the glyph jumped and grew larger in an instant – stretching from the vaulted ceiling to the floor. Spinning, it flipped on its side and sank to the floor, whirling in tighter and tighter circles under her feet.

Weiss felt the energy of the light grow as she fed it her _desire_ : her desire to leave, to see her mother, to save her brother. Her desire to tear down the walls of this wretched room, and run through the halls of her home _free_ , no longer her father's prisoner.

A wave of light screamed out of the glyph and it exploded – forcing Weiss to close her eyes. A ringing buzzed in her ears and she shielded her face with her hand.

For a moment, everything was silent and still. A heat so brilliant that it burned like ice settled onto Weiss's skin like armor, and slowly she peeled open her eyes and lowered her hand.

Weiss gasped.

"Woah…"

Kneeling before her was the suit of armor from the painting on her wall, come to life like in her fairytales. The knight bowed his head and presented his sword to her, its blade glinting in the light of the candles spread around the room.

Even kneeling, the knight was just as tall as she was. It glowed like a phantom, but reaching out she touched it – and it was solid, cold as steel.

 _What now?_ thought Weiss. She didn't have the slightest idea of how to control it or make it do what she wanted. She wasn't even sure if she could.

"Um, hello?" she said. Even to her it sounded silly, but she didn't know what to do.

The knight didn't react. It stayed down on one knee, its head bowed.

"No, I didn't really think that would work," she murmured to herself.

She held a hand up to her lips, thinking. Slowly she circled around the knight, watching it. And still, it did not move.

Stopping, she said – in as commanding a voice as she could muster, "Rise!"

It raised its head and looked at her with two bright eyes, floating in a faceless darkness beneath the visor of its helm. But that was all – it remained kneeling.

Frustrated Weiss stamped her foot.

 _I did NOT make it this far to fail!_

Weiss tried to dip back into the fury of desire and anger that had summoned up the knight in the first place. Swallowing, she tried to _will_ the creature to stand up, bust down the door, and lead her out of the tower. She pictured it in her mind, playing it over and over again as if by seeing it more clearly she could simply make it happen – as if by magic.

Then, infusing that will into her voice, she said again, "Rise!"

With the groaning of metal and the almost silent _snick_ of a blade cutting through the air, the knight rose up to its feet and flourished its sword.

Weiss smiled, overwhelmed.

"That's better," she said, still grinning ear to ear.

"Now," she said, dipping back into the flow of energy, "Let's _go_!"

The creature turned sharply and marched towards the door – each step landing with a muted _thud_. Brandishing its two-handed weapon, it raised the blade over its head. Not slowing its stride, the being of light made to smash its way through the locked door.

Two crossing hashes of the massive blade splintered through the wood, and with a heavy boot the knight kicked the offending door right off of its hinges.

Not halting, the knight strode out of the room and into the hallway.

Practically shaking with excitement, fear, and something else she couldn't put a name to – Weiss followed him out, and left her room for the first time in six years.

Standing in the hallway, Weiss thought it was smaller than she remembered.

 _Or maybe I'm just bigger. He probably doesn't help either…_

She looked at the knight who could touch both walls with his hands if he were to spread out his arms.

The knight looked back over its shoulder at her for a moment, waiting. She nodded, face set with grim determination.

"I'm getting out of here," she said.

It turned back around and started marching off down the hallway. Hurrying to keep up, Weiss half-ran down the corridor behind it.

Approaching the end of the hall, the creature entered the winding stairwell there without hesitation. Crouching, it made its way down, Weiss trailing in its wake all the while.

Absently, she wondered if the knight was guided by her memories or her imaginings of what it would be like to escape the tower. Whatever it was that led the knight on, it was steady and sure.

Wending their way down the stairs, the pair arrived on a landing at the bottom of the tower. Walking forward, they entered the hallway that would ferry them to the main estate, into the house proper where the rest of the family lived.

Weiss had not laid eyes on this place since she was a child. At least in this part of the house – far from the living quarters – not much had changed. The same old tapestries hung on the walls, the same marble busts of ancestors past stared at them blindly from their pedestals. Beneath their feet, an ornate rug ran the length of the passage.

While Weiss looked around, the knight kept walking – nearly leaving her behind. Scurrying, she caught back up – following it further away from the tower.

Through one hall and then the next, they made their way deeper into the house. The estate was large, housing only the few members of her family and a handful of staff. Even still, they were lucky to encounter no one on their way.

Hurrying along, Weiss was surprised how much she remembered – how _familiar_ it all still seemed. And the more she remembered, the more sure she was of the way out of the house, the faster the knight walked.

But at one point, after they had passed through the center of the estate, they heard voices down the hall. A pair of servants – maybe even her father – she couldn't tell who or how many, and so they were force to go around.

Circling back through another hallway, they backtracked and then started to make their way towards the exit again. But something nagged at Weiss, a thought whose words she couldn't quite pull together.

But after a moment, it hit her – and it was too late.

She realized just as they were almost on top of it, that this new route would take her past her father's study.

Weiss gasped and froze, hand flying up to her mouth. Not five feet from her was the door – and it was cracked open, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway.

And the knight wasn't stopping. But it wasn't continuing down the hallway either.

It was going into her father's study.

"No!" she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper.

But the knight ignored her. For a moment, it disappeared from sight as it entered the room, leaving her standing alone in the hallway.

"What is the meaning of this!" her father's voice shouted, muffled by the walls. "What are you – what are you doing!" he roared.

Something thudded. She heard the whir and whistle of the creature's blade. She heard the sound of wood clattering to the floor.

"Stop! Stop – what are you doing! Leave me alone!" cried her father.

Fear wrapping its cold fingers around her heart, Weiss burst into the room. Standing in the threshold of the study, she held her breath and felt her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

The knight had slashed through one of the two ornate, wing-back chairs that faced her father's desk. It stood facing him, sword held at the ready. Her father stared back at it, a mixture of rage and helpless fear mingling on his face.

"Father!" she screamed, but he didn't seem to notice her.

The knight dropped its sword – plunging it tip first into the ground. Striding forward, it picked her father up by his shoulders and threw him against the wall. The room shook with the force of it, and her father grunted.

"Get off me you monster! Stop – STOP!"

"No!" cried Weiss. Racing around the desk, she tried to pull the knight off of him, but it was too strong.

Ignoring her, the knight started to beat her father, landing heavy-fisted blows in his gut. Once when it was winding up to throw another punch, it nearly elbowed Weiss in the stomach – heedless of her presence.

"NO!" she screamed again.

But still it continued its rampage. Her father doubled over, spitting blood out of his mouth. A dazed look spread over his face, looking like he was on the verge of losing consciousness. The customary look of derision that usually marred her father's features was gone, given over to fear, pain, and panic.

Grabbing her father by the throat, the knight spun and heaved – throwing him over the desk and onto the floor. In the torrent of movement, Weiss was knocked down, landing heavily on her hands and knees.

"STOP!" she cried, still unable to control the beast she'd summoned. "This isn't what I wanted! This isn't what I wanted!"

Finally, the knight turned to look at her. Its eyes narrowed into slits. And then, it moved towards her.

"No, no, no!"

It picked her up and carried her under its arm like she weighed nothing at all. She fought and kicked and screamed but it was useless – the apparition was too strong. Before she knew what was happening, it hefted her out the door – tossing her into the hallway and slamming the door behind her.

Something clicked into the place as the knight locked the door. Lying in a heap on the floor in the hall, Weiss's eyes widened as she heard a bellowing roar that didn't sound human.

Terrified Weiss scrambled to her feet and ran. She ran and she ran and she did not stop until she was standing in the grand parlor at the front of the house, facing the door that would set her free.

Only then did she remember why she'd started all this in the first place.

Her mother, and her brother. She'd been worried for their safety, worried about leaving them alone with her father.

 _I can't leave them!_

Swallowing her fear, Weiss tore back through the house at a full sprint – but she didn't make it far before she crashed into something and was knocked to the floor.

Bile rising in her throat, fear choked Weiss as she thought it was the knight – still on an unstoppable rampage. But rising to her feet, Weiss saw what – or rather, _who_ – she'd run into.

"Whitley!" she exclaimed, fighting for breath.

The white haired boy looked dazed. Holding his head, he looked up at his sister.

He was so _different_. He wasn't the little toddler she had known as a child. He had the skinny, awkward frame of a young boy just starting puberty. His eyes were a slightly darker shade of blue than she remembered, and his face had started to lose some of its childish roundness.

"Whitley!" she said again, reaching down a hand to help him up. "Whitley I'm so glad I've found you! I'm getting us out of here – we can't stay, it isn't safe! We have to find mother and then-"

" _What_?" said Whitley, voice cracking over the word.

Weiss pulled up to a halt – confused.

"Father – something's happened. We have to go, Whitley!" she urged.

"Father?" he asked.

"Yes!" she shouted. "We have to go – now!"

"No!" he said, stepping away from her. "NO!"

"Whitley – shh! What are you doing?"

The boy looked at her with a mixture of fear and… disgust. His hand recoiled away from her where she'd held onto him, helping him off the floor. He took another step back and started shouting.

"Father! FATHER! Help me, somebody – HELP ME!"

Weiss's eyes widened in shock. She tried to step back closer to him, reaching out with her hand.

"Whitley, no! Don't! We need to get away-"

"Get away from me you – you monster! FATHER!" he wailed. Looking at her outstretched hand he sneered, and scrambled further away.

The look on his face – the look of utter disdain and contempt – was one she'd seen before.

In that moment, Whitley looked exactly like their father.

Hurt and betrayed, Weiss turned and fled – running back towards the door. All the while, Whitley kept screaming.

"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

Distantly Weiss heard the rumbling of feet pounding against the floor as members of the house came rushing in to find out what was going on.

Not looking back, Weiss yanked open the front door and ran out into the cold night air. Sprinting, she darted away from the house and down the lane that led away from the estate.

Behind her she heard shouting, but as far as she could tell – no one pursued her. Tears pricking at her eyes, Weiss kept running.

After a few minutes, she felt the buzzing energy that had covered her skin since she'd summoned up the lights and the armored creature fade – her connection to the magic or whatever it was breaking.

For almost a mile, she didn't stop. She followed the road further and further away from the house. But eventually, she had to stop running. The muscles in her legs burned and a sharp cramp bit into her side, stealing away the breath from her lungs.

Wincing, she forced herself to keep walking.

 _Must get away. I have… to get away._

And all through the night, she walked.

Even after several hours, when the fear that had sent her flying through that last door had washed away, and sleep threatened to send her sprawling in a snow bank on the side of the road, Weiss kept walking.

Eventually, the sun started to rise. But by then, Weiss was frozen through to the core. Her teeth chattered in her skull and she squeezed her blue hands under her armpits, desperately trying to warm them.

Her ears burned red with the cold, and her eyes felt like they would freeze shut.

And still, she walked.

By early morning, she reached a small town – more of an outpost than anything really. Weiss spotted an inn and she made her way toward it. She knew she didn't have any money to pay for a room, but if she didn't get inside she'd collapse in the snow and freeze to death.

Half-blind, she stumbled through the door. A bright fire blazed in a nearby hearth. Weiss heard a woman – the innkeeper presumably – say something, but she was too exhausted to understand.

Numbly, she took three steps towards the fire, and fell. Slowly fading from consciousness, she lay on the floor by the hearth, letting everything fade to black…

She didn't know how long she'd slept, but when Weiss woke she was in a small bed in a room she didn't recognize. It took her a minute to realize that everything that had happened the night before was _real_ – she'd summoned up the knight and broken out of the tower.

And quite possibly, murdered her father.

Weiss heaved, sickened by the thought – but her stomach was empty and nothing came up. She leaned over the edge of the bed, feeling traces of bile burning in her throat.

She almost didn't notice the warm hand on her shoulder. Gentle fingers reached up and brushed the hair out of her face, and the hand held her until she'd finished heaving and relaxed back onto the mattress.

When she'd caught her breath, Weiss rubbed at her eyes with the backs of her hands. When she opened them, she saw a face hovering over hers – looking back at her with calm blue eyes.

"Mother?" she asked, her voice weak from the bile.

The young woman shook her head.

"No, Weiss," she said, a small smiling tugging at her lips. Her eyes were sad.

"How – how do you know my name?" asked Weiss.

For a moment, the woman said nothing and Weiss studied her. She looked remarkably like her mother – she had high, regal cheekbones and a narrow chin. She even had snow-white hair, pulled back into a bun on the crown of her head.

"My name," she said at last, breaking the silence, "is Winter."

Weiss looked at her, confused. Her eyebrows tugged down over her eyes and she squinted up at the mysterious woman.

"Winter?" she asked, voice unsure.

"Yes, Weiss – my name is Winter. I'm your sister."

* * *

Author's note: So! Probably not what you were thinking when you pictured a chapter about Weiss summoning the knight and attacking her father, but when I tried to come up with a way to write the story and not have it end up being a crack this is what happened.

Please let me know what you think about how it went! I'm considering writing up another chapter to pick up where this one left off in the future, we'll see how it goes. And keep sending me suggestions for stories you might wanna see! Always looking for ideas for this one.

Also, a note about the title: It's a reference to a song off the new Metallica album (called "Atlas, Rise"). I highly recommend checking it out!


End file.
